When Jimmy Hendermann Wore a Dress to School
by Tobias Backman
The first time Jimmy Hendermann wore a dress to school it wasn't really a dress at all. It was a bright pink tutu, a stiff, bristly skirt. He wore it with a wide smile and strutted down the hall.
The girls snickered behind his back, pointed fingers, and passed around notes about him during class. If Jimmy realized, he didn't care.
When the bell rang and everyone else ran for freedom, I stayed behind along with Jimmy.
"Why are you dressed that way?" I asked.
He smiled at me and did a wobbly pirouette before answering. "I wanted to be a ballerina."
"Boys can't be ballerinas."
"My mother says I can be whatever I want." He did another spin and leapt out of the classroom.
About a month later Jimmy Hendermann wore a dress to school for the second time. He came clad in an azure fairy costume complete with a flowing skirt, small transparent wings, a pointy sky-blue hat, and a golden wand with a star at the end.
This time nobody snickered behind his back; everyone laughed right in his face instead. But Jimmy smiled and skittered down the halls just the same.
During recess he went to the girls' toilet and Judith from fifth pushed him up against the wall, ripped his dress and yelled at him for going in there.
I sat next to him in math afterwards and whispered to him, "Why don't you dress like a normal boy?"
Next time Mrs. Balducci turned her back to us, Jimmy sent a note across the desk to me. It said: because I want to be a fairy godmother.
Don't be stupid, I wrote back. Fairies don't exist, and only girls can be godmothers.
He read it, shrugged. Then he flicked his fairy wand in the direction of my bag. When I opened it after class there were twenty two apples inside. I never figured out how he'd managed to sneak them in there.
The third time Jimmy Hendermann wore a dress to school he outdid himself. It was a huge princess' dress, purple top part and layers upon layers of big, fluffy, white skirts. He even wore pink ballerina flats beneath just to top it off.
Jimmy pranced down the halls, smiling wide as ever, holding his skirts with one hand and waving to the crowds of whispering kids with the other as if he were their queen.
I tried warning him in class, but I never really managed to say anything. I don't think I knew what to say other than that he should run away, but that wouldn't help, not with Jimmy. He would've strided out there--proud, stubborn--and taken whatever the world threw at him.
That day Jimmy got the beating of a lifetime. He'd barely left the school grounds, turning the corner on Eighth Street where he was out of sight of the teachers.
